


A romp before battle

by Polar_Bear_Biceps



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Armpit Kink, Ass Play, M/M, Sweat, ass eating, musk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 03:54:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12696801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polar_Bear_Biceps/pseuds/Polar_Bear_Biceps
Summary: Durotan visits an old friend and helps him relieve a bit of tension.





	A romp before battle

An air of unease hung over the stretches of the Orc encampment as they prepared for an assault on the Westbrook garrison. Even from miles away one could feel the rumbling of footsteps as various orcs cleaned their weapons and their armor, drank, or discussed battle strategies that would promptly be discarded in favor of their commanders’. Anything to stave off the boredom and anxiety that all of them felt in the day before the attack. Orgrim had stepped outside of his tent for a spell to take a breather and feel the fresh winter snow crunch beneath his iron boots.  
As he looked over the rolling, snowy hills, he heard footsteps behind him and quickly turned to face his guest. He was greeted by an orange-skinned orc whose immense bulk matched his own, donning the pelt of an arctic wolf. “Someone’s skittish.” said the orc with a sly smile. “Can it, Durotan.” responded Orgrim as he went in for a hug. “You’ve seen the commotion back there. I couldn’t take that air of nervousness, so I went to take a quick break. What brings you to these parts?” he said, ending their bear hug with a few taps on the back. “You know I can’t resist the sight of a good battle. Especially one fought by an army lead by the finest lieutenant the Blackrocks have to offer.” “You flatter me too much.” said Orgrim, punching the other in the shoulder.  
The two walked a bit further to a waist-high wall where the hustle and bustle of the encampment wasn’t quite as audible and sat down. “That can’t have been it.” questioned Orgrim. “If your lust for battle is that vicious, you could’ve just raided any nearby human town.” “You’ve got me. I just wanted to visit a good friend before he inevitably gets himself killed.” Orgrim frowned. “By a stray arrow…” Orgrim rolled his eyes, “...fired by one of his own men.” That was the straw for Orgrim, pushing Durotan face-first into the snow. “We don’t use bows, you idiot.” growled Orgrim as he helped his friend back up. “You should do well not to aggravate me. I’ve already got enough on my mind.”

Durotan guffawed as he patted himself dry and shook the leftover snow out of his pelt. “You worry too much. A true orc goes into battle with their head filled with naught but bloodlust.” he said before slinging an arm around his friend and poking around the other’s bicep. “You are mighty tense.” noted Durotan, using his other hand to examine Orgrim’s shoulder muscles. “This really won’t do for someone intending to lead an army. We’ll need to fix this.” “What do you suggest?” asked Orgrim. Durotan responded by placing an aggressive kiss on the nape of Orgrim’s neck. Were his orcish skin not as tough as it was, the kiss would certainly have left a bruise. “I see how it is.” smirked Orgrim, grabbing the other’s wrists and throwing them both down onto the ground below, planting a number of his own kisses on Durotan’s neck once they hit the ground.  
“Really? Here?” said Durotan. “What if someone sees their great leader mingle with a Frostwolf?” “I’ll make sure they’ll keep their mouth shut, don’t you worry.” grunted Orgrim, planting a few kisses of his own on Durotan’s ample, hairy pecs before moving up to his neck and ending at his mouth, where he carefully angled his head so his tusks wouldn’t gore the man. He wrapped his lips around Durotan’s bottom one and pulled at it with a growl. His partner, in an attempt to get Orgrim to stop beating around the bush, grabbed the back of the orc’s head and firmly mashed their lips together. He forced his tongue into the other’s mouth, dancing it around the other and tasting the musk present in his mouth. They broke the kiss after a minute of intense making out, leaving a trail of spittle connecting them.  
“Isn’t the commander supposed to take charge in a battle? You’re embarrassing me.” said Orgrim. “Then take charge.” responded Durotan.  
That the lieutenant did, haphazardly striking kisses on Durotan’s lips, chin, neck and exposed pecs while trying to undress the other. Durotan did the same, unbuckling the belt and various straps on his companion’s armor with great diligence. By the time they’d removed the essentials, Durotan noticed a heady scent in the air between the two. It seemed that during their passionate make-out, the pair had worked up quite a sweat. This gave him an idea. He shuffled himself down and buried his face in his friend’s armpit, slathering the fresh sweat all over it. Orgrim got into it and grabbed the back of Durotan’s head to push him in even deeper. Having no means to escape, Durotan was forced to commit - taking a deep whiff and letting the other orc’s musk fill his nostrils and mind. He wasn’t satisfied with just smelling, though, and quickly opened his mouth to lap at Orgrim’s hairy pit and lick up all the sweat that had gathered there. It had a sharp, tangy quality to it. After a good few minutes of sniffing and licking, Orgrim felt satiated enough to where he let Durotan out to get a breath. The new-found cold breeze stung his lungs, and Durotan wished desperately he could return to that reassuring warmth.  
He didn’t have much time to deliberate, though, before Orgrim reeled him back in for a kiss, lapping broadly at the other’s face and tasting his own sweat that had since soaked into Durotan’s skin. “You are marked with my scent. I hope you know who the dominant one is now.” he boasted. There was a gleam in his eye that Durotan so loved to see - that passion that he also saw when his companion charged into battle. “Are you, though?” asked Durotan before rolling the pair over once more so that he was now on top, pinning Orgrim’s wrists on each side of his face. Ideas on what to do raced in his mind. He could subject Orgrim to the same delightful torture he had to undergo, smothering him with his musky pits, but decided to try something else.  
He scooted over and sat himself down on Orgrim’s face, absolutely smothering him with his bulky rump. What he didn’t expect was for Orgrim to grip his thighs and force him down lower, without missing a beat. Orgrim took a deep breath, allowing the pent-up musk to invade his nose and lapping at his hole like a parched dog until every inch he could reach was left soaked in saliva. Durotan couldn’t deny the sensations, clawing at the dirt beneath and biting his knuckles in an attempt to stifle any particularly loud moans. This went on for some time, with Durotan occasionally (and with great reluctance) lifting himself up so Orgrim could get some air. Within minutes, Durotan’s body just couldn’t take any more. He came, shooting streaks of white that blended in well with the snow around them, and rolling over. “You never told me you were -that- good at that.” he panted. “You never gave me a chance to show you.” responded Orgrim, smugness dripping from his voice. The two cuddled for a bit before cleaning up and heading back to camp, where everyone knew what had happened but nobody dared bring it up.


End file.
